Sunday Afternoon Smut Off!
by MagicallyChallenged
Summary: Emma enjoys her sunday cleaning days, especially when Will decides to join in.


**Okay readers, this fic is part of a little competition that a few of us are holding that we have entitled 'The Smut Off', basically the rule was, we each were given three prompts and we had to write each fic to a M/ NC-17 rating. In order to make this a fair competition we decided to let you readers review and decide who should win, so please, review generously. Also we noted that some of us are more well known or rather, have a bigger reader base and so in order to make this fair, we're going to ask that you stop by the fics of the other writers in this case it's CALLEIGH4EVER, and please, Don't forget to review, even if it's just to say good work, and even adding a story as a fave is worth points… Your opinion matters make yourself heard… and most of all… ENJOY!! Two other writers will post their fics next month.**

**P.s Each of us wrote a RP fic too which we will host on the live journal pages under the names of calleigh4ever and lil_paigles.**

**This is for the amazingly breathtaking Calleigh4ever, who helps me through the days even I don't know how to deal with… I'll never be able to repay you for all you do, but one day I'll make it up to you…forever and always!**

She was very meticulous with her cleaning ritual, dishes were sorted into piles before she stacked them neatly beside the sink, bowls, plates, side dishes and cups, each one the perfect white they had been the day she unpacked them. She turned the handle on the sparkling clean metal tap watching the steam rise as the water flowed into the plastic wash basin, mixing with the yellow liquid she had generously squirted in moments ago. As the suds began to form and the dishes began to disappear beneath an ocean of bubbles, she felt the sudden urge to emerge her entire body into the small bowl, sinking into it so deep that it covered her head and left her feeling her cleanest. She emerged her hands into the scalding hot water, and calmly let her head fall back as she embraced the warmth, her body shaking slightly as goose bumps raided her flesh, a mass of tiny mountains on a previously untouched archipelago. She swayed side to side to a tune playing only in her mind, her eyes tightly shut as she wrapped her fingers around a freshly opened scouring sponge, lifting it from the watery depths and squeezing till it ran dry before dunking it back into the water and repeating the action once more.

She had always been a fan of washing the dishes by hand, although she knew that these days a dishwasher was more common place she couldn't help but feel bad that she didn't entirely trust that it would clean her dishes to her liking. So instead of relying on the machinery designed to make her life easier, she dedicated her Sundays to making sure everything in her home was spotless, immaculate and that included herself. She watched the suds running from down her wrists and dripping back into the bowl as her hands remerged from the water, placing the last dish neatly on the draining rack and reaching out for a dishcloth to dry her hands on. Wiping slowly on the porous fabric until she was sure her hands were completely dry and then throwing it haphazardly into her washing machine. Most things in her home had a place, a label and if not a label then she certainly knew exactly what their use was. She used the white cloths for mopping up accidental spills, and although she was very, very careful not to make a mess, she had fallen asleep more than once on a Tuesday, after a long and arduous night of S.A.T Prep, and the glass of red wine she has previously sought for comfort instead lulled her into a state of slumber and in her relaxed state she had allowed one too many a glass to slip from her open hands. The thick, red liquid seeping from the translucent glass and seeping into every grain of her wooden floor.

Yellow cloths were for dusting, well more for running over every polish-able surface in her tiny dust free apartment, and although they very rarely felt the warmth of other individuals' hands on their chrome surface, Emma liked nothing more than taking the thick yellow fibre cloth and rubbing it in heavy circles over the cold metal handles of each and every door. She stood at the entrance to her bedroom, one foot on either side of the threshold as she allowed her hand to move in fluid back and forth motions, dragging the cloth along the expanse of the handle, her back arched as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror housed in the corner of her room. She hadn't noticed, while working her way arduously through her mental list of chores that Will had slipped home early from his afternoon football match with the boys from glee. He had dropped his bag at the door, letting the black cotton hold all fall inside the small plastic bin that Emma had placed at the door months ago, for such a purpose. He had slipped his muddy cleats off in the car, and walked in his socks to the apartment, once inside he began to rid himself of the rest of his attire, his t-shirt came off first as he pulled it over his head, instinctively making his way towards the bedroom. When he reached the doorway and saw her standing there, the sunlight bouncing off every amazingly round curve, heating her completely exposed flesh as she stared wide eyed at herself in the mirror. He felt his hands move independently to push the shorts down his legs, his boxers following suit until he was standing there in the same naked disposition as she was.

He saw her hand reach out slowly, the yellow cloth hitting the reflection of perfection in the mirror, rubbing gently over the parts of her body that cried out for attention. She held the cloth low, and dead center rubbing with such power that she had to raise her other hand to grip the frame and steady herself. Sliding it up the glass, over the reflection of herself, the braver form of herself, one who wasn't afraid of such motions, one who knew what it felt like to know her own body, one who didn't have to yearn for sweet release because she had already discovered self release a long time ago. She sighed slowly, completely unaware of the strong well built man crossing the thick cream coloured carpet, his hands reaching out for her waist as he slid behind her. His strong, muscular form pressing into her as she arched her back into his chest, their exposed forms finding heat and comfort in one another.

He let his fingers spread across her abdomen, his palms rested on her hips as he lowered his head to the crook of her neck, lips attacking her sensitive flesh in a flurry of kisses, his eyes shut tight. She allowed her head to roll back on his shoulder her eyes close tightly but her hands still gripped the light oak frame of the mirror, steadying her body and praying her legs would continue to hold her, because the way he made her feel could have brought her literally to her knees. She let out a small sigh, feeling him grind himself into her backside, his large hands holding her in place as he began to rotate his hips slowly, moving hers along to the slow sensuous rhythm in his mind. He traced his hands up the creamy expanse of her porcelain skin, until he reached the two perfect mounds that were her breasts, cupping her gently as his thumbs rubbed over her hardening nipples. A gasp escaped her lips as she pushed herself into him further, his desire pressing hard into her back as they continued to move their hips to a song only they could hear. She felt his hands leave her breasts working their way up her body, scooping around her back, resting at her shoulders and then slowly, dancing down her arms until his hands held hers in the grip on the frame of the mirror. He slid her arms up higher, her back lowering as her bottom pushed out against him, he instinctively nudged her legs further apart and slowly entered her.

She squealed slightly, her head tossing and lolling about as she bit down hard on her lip trying to gain some control. She bit almost too hard when she felt his hands grip her own hard urging her to open her eyes. At first she shook her head, denying herself a true glimpse of this, of him standing behind her, his broad muscles encompassing her body, making love to her in a way she had come to love and enjoy as their Sunday ritual. Most couples Sundays involved sharing a cooked breakfast, sat at a small table dressed in a blue gingham table cloth, a small vase dead centre with a single sunflower sitting in it. Or reading the newspapers while curled up together on the small loveseat, one arm wrapped lazily around the shoulder of the woman whose head lay against your chest, her eyes scanning the clues printed in black and white before assisting you in answering. As far as they were aware, normal couples didn't spend the day apart, one cleaning their home, and the other playing sports before coming home to make love in a way neither would ever tire of. This had been the case for the past three months, ever since their relationship had gotten physical. Will had been amazing about their intimacy, waiting almost a year before Emma decided she was ready to be with him completely, he already had her heart, she wanted him to care for her soul also. As he stood behind her, moving slowly, their bodies completely joined she could feel their souls touching as he whispered her name in a breathy declaration of unspoken but clearly felt love and adoration.

As they found their rhythm she began to slowly open her eyes, allowing her amber focus to fall on the two people before her, lovers, so caught up in one another that nothing else in the world mattered. She watched the man brush his lips against his lovers' collarbone; closing her eyes once more she felt his hot breath against her sensitive flesh of her neck as she leant her head to the side to allow him better access. He pushed further inside her, eliciting a soft moan that he accompanied with a groan of satisfaction. His fingers loosened the firm hold he had on her hands, knowing now that as he picked up pace he would have to hold her hips to stop her legs from giving way, one thing he had always promised her was to be there for her, to catch her when she fell and their recent bouts of love making had often become so passionately powerful that he, more than once had to hold her waist to keep her steady. He traced a slow and sensuous path back up her arms to her shoulders dropping back down to her breasts and gently massaging them briefly before trailing his fingers down her sides and to her hips. Once he reached his destination, his palms flat against her hipbones, fingers splayed across her midriff as he stroked the hollow of her lower back, thumbs brushing gently over her perfectly rounded ass he began to thrust hard. This movement, this fast back and forth, a solid signifier of their love for one another as he powered into her hitting her at just the right angle. She began to pant, her breath coming in short heavy syllables of his name as he drove himself further into her, allowing one hand to slide down her thigh, lifting it slightly as he felt her nearing her climax. Beads of perspiration began to build on her neck and as he lowered his mouth to taste her he found his instinct raw, as he bit down hard on her collarbone, drawing the skin into his mouth alternating between biting and sucking.

He knew she had never been one for marking, always commenting on how inappropriate it was when she saw a couple covered in marks given to one another in the heat of the moment and yet as he held her darkening flesh between his teeth, her moans of appreciation spurred him on. He felt her walls clamping down hard as her slender frame began to shake, the vibrations sending him over the edge as he pulled her body as close as he could, spilling into her while biting down hard enough to break the skin. They collapsed against the mirror, Emmas' hot skin slick with perspiration clinging to the glass as they gathered the breath that had escaped them during their rapid session of love making. They didn't part, instead he clung to her, holding her so close as their waves of gratification subsided leaving them content and each with such a peaceful, rested look upon their faces. He lifted his head from her shoulder and nuzzled her ear gently, raising one hand to brush her auburn curls behind her prominent ears, placing a series of kisses up her neck as she sighed appreciatively. He began to walk backwards, freeing himself from her, feeling a loss of warmth as he spun her to body to face him, his hand dropped between them reaching out to feel her release pooling between her legs. Looking into his eyes she bit coyly on her bottom lip, her eyes wide with a seduction that had only just started. She lifted her arms to wrap around his neck and winced slightly at the pain of the broken skin on her shoulder blade, Will lowered his head and let his lips find the small mark on her previously unblemished skin, kissing the wounded area as tenderly as the kisses he left on her luscious lips. The metallic taste of her blood lingered in his mouth as he slowly dragged his tongue along the expanse of the abrasion, he knew he was in trouble for having been so bold as to mark her, but when she let her head fall back once more and an appreciative moan leave her mouth he wondered if maybe she had changed her mind about the concept.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you…" he whispered, pulling back to look into her eyes knowing that even if she didn't confirm her pain, there was no way her eyes could deceive him. For Emma her eyes really were the gateway to her soul and as Will stared deep into the amber pools of lust and adoration he couldn't help but marvel at what a beautiful soul she had. She didn't speak, instead choosing to shake her head before standing on her tiptoes and leaving a gentle kiss on his lips, if there was one thing Will understood about Emma silences it was that he should never choose to interrupt one, because it was these silent times that he actually heard her the most, her felt her every wish and heard her every unspoken word and as she stepped back, her fingers intertwining with his own he thanked god for Sunday afternoons. He was thankful for every small spec of unseen dust that plagued their apartment, he thanked the humidity of the summer days that caused such a wondrous sight as his fiancée, completely exposed, and he thanked his wonderful fiancée for everyday opening up to new experiences and for being her amazing wonderful self. At first her constant need for clean felt like it could almost be too much for him, but over the last few months he had found a way to use it to his advantage and as she lead him into the bathroom, reaching inside the shower cubicle and turning on the spray he knew their day of cleaning had only just begun, her eyebrows raised in a look of seduction that had him hard within seconds. He growled playfully, moving forward and attaching his mouth once again to her neck. Yes, Will loved Sunday afternoons when he fell asleep with her in his arm, almost as much as he loved the Monday mornings he awoke to her still sleeping form. So real, so perfect, and finally his.

**Hit that button please!**


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